Unsteady
by EmberlyFae
Summary: Hey all, brand new concept that I am currently writing. Please review and let me know what you think! Thanks! The ever constant moaning and snarling of the undead was all she thought she would ever hear anymore, but what happens when she runs into a ragtag group of survivors, who not one is the same as the other but still becomes the strongest family she'll ever know?


Hello and welcome readers! This is a new concept writing I have been working on for a bit. Personally, have not ventured outside of the Anime fanfiction zone before. I want to continue to write on this but am not entirely sure if I should. Please let me know what you all think. I am definitely open to reviews!

Thanks

-Ember

Chapter One - Pilot

Snarling.

The ever-constant moaning and snarling of the undead was all she thought she would ever hear anymore. Sauntering through the Georgia wilderness she looked much like one of the undead herself. Her ebony black mass of waist-length hair was pulled into a tight matted braid, ends of varying lengths frayed out throughout the length. Her sun-kissed tanned skin stained with dirt and coagulated blood, most of which did not belong to her. Her amber orbs glazed over with heavy exhaustion, lids half-closed, she wasn't paying any real attention now to where she was going.

Completely unsure of where she should go next, she continued to trudge further through the forest - thousands of trees surrounding her as far as she could see in every direction. Distant soothing birdsong eased her mind that nothing was amiss in this deep section of the woods. Nothing else to be heard save for the soft crunch of leaves and twigs beneath loud shuffled steps from her heavy combat boots, accompanied by the occasional thump of her walking stick- atop of the long wooden staff stood a lengthy sharp spearhead cast from iron. She leaned wearily on the spear for support as she shuffled forward.

She couldn't recount the number of days she spent on her own. How long now had it been now? She couldn't be certain but it had to be somewhere in the range of months rather than weeks or days. All of this time she had spent alone, she almost preferred it this way. You see, people were becoming dangerous. More dangerous than the living dead see encountered every day it seemed. The dead, well they were predictable; the living, however, not.

She wandered on aimlessly, only stopping so often to adjust the large bag on her back that sagged from the empty weight. She clutched tightly in her right hand was the handle of a small hatchet, the wooden handle of which was stained a deep red-brown from blood. She never allowed her grip on it to waver, almost as if her very life depended on the grip she held. She was probably unaware of the fact that her knuckles were white from the tension. The woman, however short in stature, was not incredibly thin. A thin waist atop wide hips and thick athletic legs, this woman was built to survive. She was quite a sight indeed, a survivor for certain but something more, something wild.

Now she found herself here; alone, exhausted and starving. Hunger and lack of sleep had her disoriented. So disoriented that she never heard the deep rumble echoing through the trees around her. She stumbled clumsily up onto a secluded road that cut through the Georgia wilderness, completely unaware. The sound of screeching tires suddenly accompanied the deep rumble as a motorcycle and small caravan of cars came to a screaming halt. The motorcycle at the head of the caravan with one rider, she honestly wouldn't be able to tell how many others were in the cars behind.

"Put yer weapons down!" The blunt, callous voice of the motorcycles rider called out to her.

The woman turned slowly, one reluctant step after another. The rider had dismounted now and was aiming a large crossbow directly at her. The woman's eyes quickly taking in every detail of the man's appearance. He was how she would describe as grungy; he wore a typical sleeveless leather bikers vest and ratty torn jeans. His chestnut brown hair was greasy and growing untamed. The muscles in his arms swelled under the weight of the weapon in his hands, though his aim never wavered, obviously used to the weight of the weapon under his control. His brilliant blue eyes fixed on the decrepit woman that stood just in front of him. She wouldn't tell him this, but something about him intrigued her.

"Are ya deaf girl? I said put yer weapons on the ground!" The archer repeated. The woman stared lazily at him until the doors of the vehicles behind him began to open, one after another, at that moment she wished she ran for it.

She let out a quiet, defeated sigh, bending down to place her weapons on the ground at her feet. A sound decision since the man who rushed up to meet the archer was now pointing a rather large revolver in her direction. His dark brown hair was combed as neatly as possible back out of his face, a face that was covered with a full beard and mustache of the same color only peppered with small amounts of gray. His pale blue eyes staring intensely into the woman's amber orbs.

"Who are you?" The man practically growled the question, you could hear a sense of authority sewn through his voice.

The woman would not answer however, she simply stared each of the men down, analyzing their every detail. The archer began to take small steps towards her, keeping a cautious eye on the woman even though her hands were up by her head, a show of surrender.

"Search her." The man spoke again - that sense of authority ever-present and easily observed in the man's posture as well - the archer acted without a moment's hesitation.

Using his right hand to keep his bow aimed directly at her chest, his left hand reached out for the strap of her bag on her shoulder. Before he could make contact with the strap - without even a chance for either of the men to grasp what was happening - with an absurd amount of speed the woman's right hand slammed suddenly down onto the crossbow causing the archers aim to falter. His finger squeezed the trigger, releasing the bolt to pierce through the woman's side and ricochet off of the ground behind her. As if to add insult to injury - with the same insurmountable force and speed- the woman knocked the underside of the archer's jaw using the back of her wrist from the same hand. The entire movement one smooth, fluid, and graceful strike from her.

The impact from the blow caused the archer to stumble back away from the woman, he was not the only one caught effectively off guard by the sudden blow. Using the confusion to her advantage, she collected her weapons from the road and took off in a sprint back into the trees. Leaving nothing behind besides a trail of blood and a pain in the archer's jaw.

She wasn't able to run far before she had to duck behind a tree; immediately clutching her right side and letting out heavy, jagged, pain-filled breaths. The nails of her right hand digging deep into the bark of the tree as if it would somehow suppress the pain. The bolt from the archer's bow left in its wake, just below her rib cage, a large uneven gash across her side. She lifted her shirt; looking over the wound that bled profusely, letting out a heavy pain sigh. She knew she had to stop the bleeding quickly; she just couldn't find the energy. Her weight leaned heavily against the tree behind her was the only reason she was even still standing now. Slowly she pulled her torn shirt back down, her left hand clutched tightly over the wound attempting to apply pressure. Blood quickly saturating the clothing that now clung to the skin on her side. She was beginning to feel groggy from a combination of blood loss and exhaustion.

Mustering all of her remaining strength she managed to push herself away from the tree, standing on shaky legs. Wobbling back and forth a moment, trying to regain what little balance and strength she might have left. Just as she began to regain a small semblance of balance, she was suddenly blindsided. Tackled hard to the ground, the pain of the impact shooting through her as a whole. Proving to be just too much for her body and mind to handle. She no longer had the strength required to fight back, let alone to even recognize the appearance of the being that now pinned her to the forest floor. Without even a hope of fighting back, darkness clouded her vision and she unwillingly fell unconscious.

* * *

She couldn't tell if it was real or a dream; she felt as if she was floating in the air for a moment. She wondered if this was what death felt like, had she met her end in such a foolish way? These thoughts flashed through her mind before a realization came. The realization that she was being carried. Using all of her strength she forced her eyes open for just a brief moment. Her head laid on this strange unfamiliar chest, she barely had the ability to look up at the face of the man who carried her. Her vision too blurry to truly see him now, it made her mind wander to the one place she wished it hadn't.

"Beau?" Her voice was soft, just above a whisper, but all she could strain out. There was a strange deep leathery scent that filled her nose. The smell was unfamiliar but strangely comforting. It was a soft smell, faint but easy to pick up with her face buried deep in the source.

Falling quickly back out of consciousness she was carried into a world of dreams. Visions of lost loved ones filled her subconscious mind. One loved one in particular haunted her visions, her brother. The one person she was fondest of in this world. She remembered how happy he was the day she came home, how fearful he was the day the world fell apart, and how brave he was the day he sacrificed himself for her. That day would forever plague her mind. She played the thought over and over again in her mind hoping, wishing and praying she could go back and have done it differently. She could have saved him if she'd known then what she knew now.

The thoughts in her head had her subconsciously grabbing unto the man who carried her, pulling herself tightly into his chest. In her mind, she was wrapped in the loving embrace of her brother, crying now because she longed to see him again, but knew she would never. She wondered how things could have been different always, somewhere in the deep dark depths of her mind was that monster of guilt. Eating slowly at her, slowly turning her into a cold, insensitive person who would never trust anyone again. Things would have been so much different if she hadn't been so trusting then, she wouldn't even be alone, but life is never what it seems.

The torture her unconscious mind played on her was only eased by that unfamiliar smell. The smell soothed her aching mind to relax back, letting her rest comfortably in the arms of this strange scent that carried her away.

* * *

Slowly regaining her consciousness, the woman was truly amazed that she was even still alive. Lost in the thought of narrowly escaping death, she didn't realize that her hands were bound behind her back until she tried to move. The twisting motion sending a sudden wave of sharp pain shooting through her side, bringing with it a quick recollection of the day's events.

Remembering the run-in she had with those strange people, the way she was injured. With the memory in mind, she tried as she might to look at the wound in her side. The more she twisted and turned the more she could feel the stitches pull along the wound. Bringing to mind a frightening set of questions. Who had saved her? Why would they care enough to mend her wound, and what were they planning to do with her? However thankful she was to be waking up, safe and alive, she'd be lying if she said she was thrilled to be someone's captive. Grimacing with every movement she forced herself into an upright position, breathing heavy breaths she tried to suppress the pain, but it would only increase the harder she breathed. Glancing all around her, she tried to gain some insight into her current situation. Her head was throbbing, her body felt heavy, almost too heavy to move, she couldn't be sure what the cause of the state of grogginess she was in.

It took some time for her to finally become coherent enough to distinguish her surroundings. She was sitting on the cold hard ground, beneath a tree, a small camp surrounding her made of small tents and a large RV. Not too far off in the distance, she noticed a large farmhouse. The bark of the tree she leaned against was digging into the skin on the back of her shoulder. She did not recognize the strange cloth that was covering her upper body though, placed as if with care, to try to protect her from the chill of the air in the night. It looked sort of like a blanket, but it had these odd shapes and colors to it that made it look like those poncho's you'd see in travel shops. She wondered who would even consider taking something like this, but at the same time, it would make sense. It was oddly warm and comfortable over her skin.

In the distance, she could hear what sounded like several people talking in hushed tones over the soft crackle of wood smoldering in a campfire. Taking another glance around she found the silhouettes of several people huddled close around said fire. She couldn't tell exactly how many there were, some were hidden behind others. From the sounds, they made she could tell there were women among the group and maybe even a child. What caught her attention almost immediately was the one man standing on the opposite side of the fire, the light of the flames making it easier for her to see his face. He was staring straight at her, she recognized him immediately as the archer from the road earlier in the day. It wasn't until her gaze met his that he finally looked away. She almost felt like prey under the piercing gaze of a predator the way he looked at her.

She could tell it was well into the night, the sky above a deep cobalt blue, void of light, the only exception to the dark void being the thousands of little white stars that littered the sky, shining with bright brilliance. The darkness around her made it hard for her to be able to make out the rest of the faces of the people around the fire. She couldn't hear or see them well, a deeply troubling thought. She couldn't conceive why they would even bother to keep her alive, these people who knew nothing about her, one of which she had attacked with no justification. Perhaps that was the reason he now stood there by the fire staring into her like a predator ready to kill, or was she simply mistaking the look in those eyes. It was obvious they did not intend to kill her, if that were the case they would have simply left her to bleed out on the forest floor. With that in mind, it only served to make her question, what was their intention?

The soft sound of leaves crunching had her looking away from the archer and glued to the figure who had left the fire behind to approach her. The darkness making it almost impossible for her to discern any of the features of the approaching presence. Unsure of what to expect from this presence had her shrinking down into the ground in fear. Causing a sharp tearing pain to ache at the wound in her side. The pain forced the escape of a small sound from her, a mixture somewhere between a groan and a whimper. With pleading, pain-filled eyes the woman stared at the figure. Once closer the figure knelt in front of her, she was finally able to recognize him as the revolver-wielding man from the road. His eyes staring intensely into hers as if searching for something.

"Who are you?" He asked. She was caught completely by surprise. She would never have thought he would approach her to simply try to talk to her. She still kept quiet though, simply straightening her posture to stare back at the man. Afraid more than ever to show any fear.

"Are you alone?" This time a different question, he hoped to coax some kind of answer out of the woman.

"Yes." Her answer was short and caught the man completely by surprise. Her voice was soft, a medium tone and mature. A voice that told a story all its own, this was not a feeble woman - she was a fighter. This woman completely shrouded in mystery looked feeble and broken, but her voice revealed there was so much more to this woman.

The man ran a hand slowly through his hair, letting out a deeply troubled sigh. His eyes turned to the ground momentarily before looking at the woman again. His eyes becoming somehow softer than she imagined they could be. Perhaps he wasn't the devious person she expected him to be, but she was still wary. How could you be certain about what a person could be capable of in this time?

"Someone will bring you a clean shirt to change into." He paused for a moment. Questions filling her eyes. A small sense of fear to be seen within the many questions.

"Who are you?" The woman questioned weakly.

"Rick Grimes." The man spoke, taking the knife from its sheath on his belt, he cut the bind around her wrists. She took that moment to rub the tender flesh around her small wrists, she was looking up at him in some confusion. "When you're ready, come join us by the fire."


End file.
